


Inside My Bones

by somethingnerdythiswaycomes



Series: Isle of Flightless Birds [15]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Blowjobs, Coming Untouched, Dom/sub, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Riding, Spanking, Team Sub T.J. Oshie, Unsafe Sex, bareback
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-18 06:25:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14847486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somethingnerdythiswaycomes/pseuds/somethingnerdythiswaycomes
Summary: TJ’s riding the high of winning a Stanley Cup Final Game, before John’s hand comes down hard on his shoulder, gripping him tight through his pads.  He knows what that hold means, what it means when John’s fingers dig into the soft spot just next to his armpit through the gap in his pads.“You’re lucky we won,” John murmurs in his ear, hot breath fanning over TJ's neck.





	Inside My Bones

**Author's Note:**

> welp here it is - TJ getting spanked for a penalty. Builds off of the previous stuff in this 'verse
> 
> Unsafe sex tag is because no one uses condoms.

TJ’s riding the high of winning a _Stanley Cup Final Game_ for the walk back into the dressing room, before John’s hand comes down hard on his shoulder, gripping him tight through his pads.

He knows what that hold means, what it means when John’s fingers dig into the soft spot just next to his armpit through the gap in his pads.

“You’re lucky we won,” John murmurs in his ear, hot breath fanning against TJ’s neck.  He shivers, his head falling forward.

“Get undressed,” John says, and releases him.  As soon as John’s hand leaves him, it’s like all the sound in the world comes rushing back in – skates coming off and hitting the ground, towels slapping, everyone shouting and cheering and congratulating each other.  He makes a beeline for his stall, sitting down to pull off his skates and start on his jersey and pads.

“Teej, we won!” Andre chirps from a few stalls over, cradled in the cushioned lap Holts has when he’s still got all his gear on.  “Aren’t you happy?”

For a moment, he smiles again, the same high swarming over him, because they did do it, didn’t they, they _won a game_ –

And then John clears his throat.  TJ swallows and stares at the ground.  Their side of the room goes quiet first, as the team picks up on what’s happening, and the other side soon follows.

“You won’t let him enjoy the win?” Holts asks, looking around TJ to make eye contact with John.

“Misbehavior has to be corrected right away, doesn’t it?” John shoots back.

Backstrom nudges Ovi’s head from his knee and stands, crossing over to them.  “I know the need for punishment as well as the next Dom,” (Ovi laughs from across the room) “But shouldn’t there be exceptions?  It was a big win.”

“And he’ll get to enjoy it after I get his punishment out of the way,” John replies.  “Besides, we could have lost the game on that power play, or after, if they’d gained enough momentum.  We almost did.  It can’t happen again.”

“Guys,” TJ says quietly.  “It’s all right.  I need to be punished when I do something wrong.  John is just making me better.”

Nicky nods sharply.  “Okay, then.”

“Did I say you could speak?” John asks him.

TJ closes his eyes.  “No, Sir.”

“Finish undressing,” John orders, and goes to put the “Players Only” sign on the door.  They’ve had one too many close calls over the last year or so, with media trying to burst in during a punishment or a reward, but they’ve finally gotten a solution that seems to be working.

TJ undresses as fast as he can – jersey in the laundry bin, pads hanging in his stall, skates tucked neatly onto their pegs.  Finally, he’s completely naked, and sinks to his knees in front of his stall to wait.

“Good,” John says as he steps over a moment later.  “Turn.”

TJ shuffles around to face the bench of his stall.

“Lean forward.”

TJ braces his forearms on the hard wood, ducking his head until his forehead is pressed to it.

“You’re getting 20 – one for every second it took them to score a goal off of your mistake.”

“Yes, Sir,” TJ whispers.

“Count them, and thank me afterward.”

Before TJ can reply, John’s hand comes down on the curve of his ass.  This is as much as a warmup as he’ll get, he knows – the first couple are a little lighter, warming up his skin, and they’ll get gradually harder and harder.

“One,” he murmurs.  “Thank you, Sir.”

John spanks him again, on the other cheek.

“Two.  Thank you, Sir.”

The third one is worse – oh God, it’s worse, against the sensitive join of his ass and thigh, and much harder.

“Three!  Thank you, Sir!”

“Shouldn’t you go easy on him?” Tom asks nervously. “We’ve gotta play again on Saturday.”

John considers this for a moment, this thumb rubbing maddening circles against tender skin.  “That’s more than enough time,” he says finally, and spanks TJ again.

“F-four – Thank you, Sir!”

It’s easy to sink into the rhythm, after a bit – John hits him, he counts it and thanks him, and it happens again.  It’s never too hard, to the point where he wouldn’t be able to skate or sit on a plane tomorrow.  It stings, and he’ll ache, but it won’t stop him from playing his best.  John would never interfere with his hockey.

He focuses on the penalty – on the rage he felt, the unfairness at getting a penalty called on him after all the bullshit that Vegas had rained down on them without so much as a stoppage in play.  He focuses on how he could have channeled it offensively, in stealing the puck, forcing a little more speed into his legs, scooting around a defenseman and putting all that anger behind the puck to get it into the net.

He focuses on how hard everyone had to work to make up for his mistake.  Instead of sitting somewhat comfortably with a two goal lead, all the extra worry and work that went into staying one goal ahead.  Holtby diving across the net.  Ovi looking like he was about to have a heartache on the bench.  Tom bleeding on the ice.  Kuzy holding his arm as he grit his teeth to keep from screaming.

“Twenty,” he gasps out, tears leaking out of the corner of his eyes as he squeezes them shut.  “Thank you, Sir.  I’m sorry, Sir.”

“What are you sorry for?”

“I shouldn’t have taken that penalty. I should’ve worked harder to get a goal for the team.”

“Very good,” John murmurs, brushing his hand down the line of TJ’s back.  He can’t help but push into it, arching his back, and moaning when John ends with a little tap on the reddened skin of his ass.

“I think there are a couple of your teammates you really need to thank,” John tells him, grabbing a fistful of his hair and pulling his head up.  “Holts here had to work very hard to keep them from scoring again after you let them score on him.”

“I’m sorry, Holts,” TJ says, looking at him out of the corner of his eye.

“I don’t think that’s enough,” John tells him.  “Go over there and show him how thankful you are.”

He swallows nervously, and looks more fully over at Holts.  He’s still got Andre in his lap, but as soon as John releases TJ, Andre slides off to kneel next to his knees.

TJ doesn’t even try to get to his feet; he knows John wouldn’t let him.  He crawls over to Holtby’s stall, the beige carpet of the visitor’s changing room rough on his knees and the palms of his hands.  It’s uncomfortable to kneel on – and TJ’s sure that John knows it.

At some point while TJ was being spanked, Holts took off his pads and pants.  His legs look somehow vulnerable, when he’s used to the giant, thick pads, and now he just sees thinner, muscular, hairy legs.

His underwear’s still on.  TJ glances up at Holts and curls his fingers around the waistband.

“May I?” TJ asks quietly.

Holts nods.  TJ pulls his briefs down, just to the point where he can pull his cock out and tuck the waistband under his balls.  He doesn’t hesitate there, doesn’t ask for permission, not when John already told him what he needed to.  He leans in and swipes his tongue over the head of his half-hard cock.

Andre’s the one that moans, his cheek resting on Holtby’s thigh, a bare couple of inches from where TJ’s sucking his cock.

He dives back in, opens his mouth and swallows him down.  He’s used to taking it all off the bat – and not to knock Holts, but John’s cock is significantly bigger – so it’s no trouble to take him down to the base.  He gets a groan from Holts, this time, and his hand comes down to rest on top of TJ’s head.

TJ bobs his head a couple times, then pulls back to take a breath, ducks his head down to lick gently at his balls.  He’s still got some post-game stench going on, but it’s not as off-putting as it might have been when he was a rookie, or even before he’s come to DC.  Holts worked hard for them – for _him_ – and the least TJ can do is put up with a little BO while he’s sucking him off.

A glance at Andre earns him a slow, easy smile.  “It’s great, isn’t it?” Andre says, fingers petting over Holtby’s knee.

TJ takes his cock back in, sucking hard on the head before easing the rest into his mouth.  Andre’s right.  There’s something special about serving the goaltender, the most important part of their team, their last line of defense.  He loves John, and what he has with most of their veteran defensemen, but there’s something appealing about this, too.  He can see why Andre was drawn to him – remembers why he went to Holts, first, when he was traded here, why the newbies continue to seek him out.

A lesser man would take advantage of that.  Lucky for TJ, Holtby only fists a hand in his hair, and doesn’t try to force him down or control his movements.

It doesn’t take that long for Holtby to come – just long enough that TJ has to work for it, teasing his balls with one hand and using the other to steady himself as he bobs his head, hollowing his cheeks as he pulls up.  Finally Holts rocks forward, grunting as his cock pulses, coming into his mouth.  TJ swallows it all, coaxes him through the aftershocks with a few gentle licks, and sits back.

Holtby pushes TJ’s hair off his forehead, giving him a quick pat on the head as he pants.  TJ sits back and looks over at John.

“You’re lucky that Batya scored that goal,” John tells him, sitting in his stall now.  “If he hadn’t, we would’ve had to fight back from a tied game.”

TJ nods, licking his lips.

“I think he deserves something for that, don’t you?”

“Yes, Sir,” TJ agrees, turning around and crawling over to Brooks’s stall.  It’s a little harder to move, now, the ache settling into his ass, knees stinging from the carpet, his cock throbbing between his legs.

Brooks is lounging back in his stall, leggings already down to his knees.  He’s hard, already palming his cock through his boxers as TJ approaches.  He spots a small tube of lube in his other hand; he must’ve guessed that John would tell TJ to thank him.

“Come up here,” Brooks says roughly, pulling his underwear down to his thighs.  TJ pulls himself up to straddle his thighs, not quite sitting back to stop from aggravating his spanked ass.  “Prep yourself.”

TJ nods, taking the tube from Brooks and slicking up his fingers, then handing it back as he reaches behind himself to get his fingers inside.  The twist isn’t that bad, and neither is the stretch of his fingers – John fucked him last night, and he’s gotten good at relaxing into it.  He sighs as the first finger slides in, thrusts it a couple times, then adds a second.

Just as he hooks his fingers to stretch his entrance a little more, Brooks reaches around him and grabs his ass, squeezing tight.  He jolts forward at the burst of pain, then back into his hold as Brooks just gently palms him.

“Keep going,” Brooks tells him, so TJ spreads his fingers and adds a third.  It’s harder to maneuver like that, to hit his sensitive spots and stretch himself out, but he knows once Brooks gets inside him he’s not going to have any problems.

“I’m ready,” he moans, ducking his head.  “Please…”

“Turn around,” Brooks tells him.  TJ exhales shakily and stands up, turning quickly and sitting back on Brooks’s lap, facing the rest of the dressing room.  Brooks presses his cock to TJ’s entrance, and stops.  “Ride me.”

TJ braces his legs on the bench of Brooks’s stall, slowly lowering down onto Brooks’s cock.  It’s a stretch – he knew it would be, he didn’t really prep himself _that_ well – but it’s good, it’s _so good_.

He must’ve said that out loud, because he can hear Nisky laugh softly.

“Come on,” Brooks says, swatting his hip lightly.  “Don’t you want to make me come?”

“Yes,” TJ whines, bracing his hands on Brooks’s thighs for leverage as he lifts up and drops back down.  He knows how Brooks likes to fuck – hard and fast and deep, so he gets right into it, pulling up and dropping back down onto his cock, moaning every time Brooks pushes back into him.

Finally, Brooks’s hands settle on his hips, guiding him a little bit, thumbs digging into the red skin of his ass.  TJ’s rhythm stutters when Brooks pulls him back slightly and thrusts up, just enough that he slams right into TJ’s prostate.

He hadn’t put much effort into getting Brooks’s cock against it himself, mostly because he was too focused on getting his movements exactly the way Brooks likes best.  But also, he knew that once Brooks got him there, it wouldn’t take long until he could barely move, overcome with the need for an orgasm.

“Please,” TJ gasps, his back arching and head falling back.  Brooks growls, gripping his hips harder and thrusting up into him.  TJ redoubles his efforts, riding Brooks harder, the slap of their skin echoing in the dressing room.

He can see, now, when he opens his eyes, the way all their eyes are on him.  Usually when John passes him around like this, it’s in the privacy of a training room or a hotel room, or even their house.  It’s not usually for the whole team like this – John likes to view it as a reward, either for TJ or whoever gets to fuck him.  But this is a reward for the whole team – for playing so well, for holding everything together for their first Stanley Cup Final victory in history.

Brooks stutters a couple more thrusts into him and comes, hauling TJ back onto his cock and holding him there.  TJ squeezes around him, moaning softly at the feel of Brooks’s come inside him, doing what he can to prolong Brooks’s orgasm, make it even better for him.

“Come,” John commands from a few stalls down, and TJ does.  It’s not hard, with how Brooks has been thrusting against his prostate, just enough pain from the hold on his hips and the pressure on his ass.

After a moment, Brooks releases him, and TJ climbs carefully off of his lap and back to the floor.

“Come here,” John says, and TJ crawls over to him.  “Present.”

TJ’s face flames red.  They _definitely_ don’t do this in front of anyone.

“Color?” John asks softly, leaning down closer to him.

“Green,” TJ whispers, trembling slightly.

“Then do it,” John says, voice hard again, no room for argument.

“Yes, Sir.”  TJ turns and leans forward, bracing his forearms on the ground and dropping his head, letting his back curve and push his ass up into the air for John’s perusal.  It’s still bright red, he knows, probably with some bruising starting to show, his hole puffy and open, come leaking out.

John presses a finger to his entrance; it sinks in with no resistance.

“Good,” he says.  “You did a good job, TJ.”

And then there’s a rustling, as John moves, until he’s pressed against TJ’s back and his cock is sliding inside him.

TJ moans, his hands pressing into the floor.  He loves this, more than anything else – John’s body blanketing him, holding him down and _taking him_.  This is another thing they usually save for just the two of them – after whoever got a reward has left, with John there the whole time, watching, and then finally claiming TJ as his own once again.  He loves it, though, John showing him off for everyone, John showing definitively, for everyone here, that TJ is _his_ , and anyone else that gets to touch him only gets it as a _reward_ , like TJ’s something precious.

“You took that so well,” John croons in his ear, completely at odds with the sharp slap of his hips, slamming into TJ.  “You did everything I asked of you, everything they wanted.”

“Thank you,” TJ gasps, clenching his eyes shut as tears start to gather.  That’s all he wants – to do well for himself, for his team.  Score goals and generate offense and help the defense and get them a win – that’s all he wants out of every game.

But he didn’t do that this game.  He let them get a goal, they could have lost because he got too angry, because he couldn’t control himself –

“I’m sorry,” he says, pressing his face into his bicep.  “I’m sorry, Sir, I’ll do better.”

“Shhh,” John soothes him, running a hand up his side to pinch his nipple.  “You were already punished.  I know you’ll do better.  Now this is your reward, for the rest of the game.”

“Thank you, Sir,” TJ moans, rocking back against him.  “Thank you, thank you.”

John kisses the back of his neck, under the fringe of his hair, still thrusting hard into him, every thrust aimed directly into his prostate until TJ’s hard again, somehow, pushing back into John’s thrusts and crying out every time.

“Are you going to come again, TJ?” John asks, teeth closing gently on his shoulder.

“Yes, yes, Sir,” TJ pants.

“You think you deserve it?”

TJ swallows, and shakes his head.  “No, b-but I will.  I’m going to be better.”

“I know you will,” John assures him again.  “You can come whenever you’re ready, babe.”

TJ moans again, his back bowing as John thrusts into him harder, his hand slipping around to curl around TJ’s cock.  It’s too sensitive, it’s too much, and then – John’s finger presses under his head and rubs quickly, on that one spot, and he –

TJ’s sure he blacks out there for a second, too overcome to anything but shake and moan and come into John’s hand, onto the visiting dressing room’s floor, and tighten around John’s cock as he thrusts in again and comes with a groan.

He knows he’ll collapse as soon as John lets go of him – but he’s not surprised when John pulls him up, instead, cradling him against his chest as they catch their breath.

“Love you,” TJ murmurs, turning his head to press his lips against John’s cheek.

“Love you, too,” John whispers into his shoulder.  “Now let’s go shower.”

TJ nods and lets John help him to his feet, studiously avoiding looking at the wet patch he left in the middle of the floor.

They’ve got more games to win, after all, ones where TJ will be more deserving of a reward.  Ones where he’ll score goals, and help his team, and maybe ones where they’ll win.

**Author's Note:**

> Join me on tumblr @ somethingnerdythiswaycomes!


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